Beth Norvell eBook

“I-I have no t-t-time,” he stuttered,
totally confused. “Y-you see, I ’m
in a h-hell of a h-h-hurry.”

“Pah; eet vill not take five minute, an’
I be here ven you come back. Si, senor, I vait
for you for de dance, sure.” She turned
eagerly to Miss Norvell. “You go vis him,
senorita; he ver’ good man, I, Mercedes, know.”

The American looked at them both, her eyes slightly
smiling in understanding.

“Yes,” she assented quietly, “I
believe he is.”

CHAPTER XI

HALF-CONFIDENCES

Whatever Stutter Brown may secretly have thought concerning
this new arrangement of his affairs, he indulged in
no outward manifestations. Not greatly gifted
in speech, he was nevertheless sufficiently prompt
in action. The swift, nervous orders of the impulsive
Mexican dancer had sufficiently impressed him with
one controlling idea, that something decidedly serious
was in the air; and, as she flitted across the room,
looking not unlike a red bird, he watched her make
directly toward a man who was leaning negligently
back in a chair against the farther wall. For
a moment he continued to gaze through the obscuring
haze of tobacco smoke, uncertain as to the other’s
identity, his eyes growing angry, his square jaw set
firm.

“W-who is the f-f-feller?” he questioned
gruffly. “Wh-what ’s she m-mean
l-leavin’ me to go over th-thar ter h-him?”

Beth Norvell glanced up frankly into his puzzled face.

“She has gone to keep him away from me,”
she explained quietly. “His name is Farnham.”

Brown’s right hand swung back to his belt, his
teeth gripped like those of a fighting dog.

“Hell!” he ejaculated, forgetting to stutter.
“Is that him? Biff Farnham? An’
he ’s after you is he, the damned Mormon?”

She nodded, her cheeks growing rosy from embarrassment.
Brown cast a quick, comprehensive glance from the
face of the woman to where the man was now leaning
lazily against the wall.

“All r-right, little g-girl,” he said
slowly, and with grave deliberation. “I-I
reckon I n-never went b-back on any p-pard yet.
B-blamed if y-y-you hate thet c-cuss any worse th-than
I do. Y-you bet, I ‘ll take you out o’
h-h-here safe ’nough.”

He drew her more closely against his side, completely
shielding her slender figure from observation by the
intervention of his giant body, and thus they passed
out together into the gloomy but still riotous street.
A block or more down, under the glaring light of a
noisy saloon, the girl looked up questioningly into
his boyish face.

“Are you Stutter Brown, of the ’Little
Yankee’?” she asked doubtfully.

“I-I reckon you’ve c-c-called the t-turn,
Miss.”

She hesitated a moment, but there was something about
this big, awkward fellow, with his sober eyes and
good-natured face, which gave her confidence.